


Shattered to Pieces

by A_Tired_Writer



Category: The Infernal Devices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 11:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Tired_Writer/pseuds/A_Tired_Writer
Summary: When you're shaped by the hands of fate to love someone, loving that person should be easy.Except for when it wasn't.





	Shattered to Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> [TUMBLR](https://i-just-like-books-man.tumblr.com):
> 
> @yep-too-gone-already said:
> 
> Jem/Tessa/Will soulmate au. If that’s cool. It’d be something I’d love to read. Particularly with their various forms of trauma and how they’d use their soulmates as like a coping mechanism.

William Herondale had always loved the idea of Soulmates when he was a child; to be destined to be with this person, who will love you unconditionally through even the roughest of times was a future so daunting that he felt himself nearly giddy at the thought. He knew, in a sense, that he’d yet to truly find out what constituted as a “rough time” with only eleven years under his belt, but . . . he knew whatever it was, whatever burden he was forced to bear, would be easier to endure with the presence of his Soulmates.

Will had the oddest marks scrawled across his skin. It was admittedly a unique occurrence, having more than one mark on his sun-kissed skin, but surely that meant he and his Soulmates were meant for only the most perfect life together. On his right shoulder was _Are you the Magister?_ in a firm but flowery handwriting. Just below his heart, curving in what was easily the messiest cursive he’d ever seen, was _You can too._ Will hadn’t the faintest idea what either of those could possibly entail for his future, but he was bursting with eagerness to find out.

Then came the pyxis, and with the screeching roar that came with the demon tearing free of its prison came the shattering of his world.

Will hadn’t thought of his potential Soulmates right away; he was much too grief-stricken to process the fact that no, he was never going to be happy like so many other people in this world. On the eve of his departure, with the death of his sister still a fresh, burning wound on the inside of his heart, all over his skin, he took a knife to the two marks. No one would have to suffer through the curse of his love, or the curse of loving him, rather—not if he didn’t have any marks to show for it.

Except that when he woke up, the gash across _Are you the Magister_? and _You can too_ had scarred over with the words completely intact. Will nearly ran to the window to let loose his dinner. He didn’t know the first thing about makeup, let alone enough to efficiently cover up his marks, but he decided he would learn. He had to keep these people safe, these lovely people who had the unfortunate future of loving him.

They wouldn’t. They wouldn’t love Will. He wouldn’t allow for such foolishness. He pitied them, really; how awful must it be to know that, if you love your Soulmate, you’ll die a horrible death?

But he would keep his head down, and he would go to the Institute; he would beg whoever was in charge to take him in, and he would do it all to spare those who should never love him.

James Carstairs had seen quite a lot for someone so young—had _experienced_ a lot for someone who, by mundane standards, was still in elementary school. It was a strange thing, knowing he could probably walk into any opium den knowing his addiction was the most severe—but he banished those thoughts whenever they came. He was going to the London Institute, and he would live out the next year or so of his life doing what he loved: being a Shadowhunter. He knew that it was likely he’d never truly get to hunt a demon or save an unsuspecting mundane from a threat they couldn’t even see, but he could hope.

Hope had been all he’d done, when his body was taken away from him and his sanity ripped to pieces; when the hell fire of the _yin fen_ had burned its way through his veins and stripped him of the colouring his parents had given him—made him a ghost of the boy he’d been. The one thing on his body that had never changed was his mark. Or rather, his marks. Curved along the now-delicate structure of his chest was _Well, if everyone calls you that, it’s hardly any special favor to me, is it?_

It would seem, by whatever stroke of fate, one of his Soulmates was crafted to test his patience. It was more amusing than anything, and Jem found himself wondering if each of their words would be so biting.

Curved along his fingers and his wrist, which he caught a glimpse of whenever he picked up his violin, was _I’m so sorry_. A touch less confusing and significantly less insulting than his other mark, Jem wondered why the pitch ink of the marks hadn’t faded along with the rest of him.

Not that it mattered. They would probably never meet him before he wasted away in a useless heap of demonic addiction and sickly shivers.

Will decided he was going to be punishably selfish.

He hadn’t been at the Institute long, but he’d already angered Charlotte and Henry, who were nothing but the gentlest of souls. Even Sophie had grown tired of him. Jessamine wasn’t precisely an issue, because Will wasn’t sure she cared for anyone.

Good. All of that . . . was good. They didn’t know it—would _never_ know it—but for their own sakes, it had to be done.

But James. This gangly boy with glimmering silver strewn about the muted grey strands of his hair and the moon in his eyes, with a posture that shouldn’t have belonged to someone crawling their way to death’s door—he was going to be Will’s undoing.

Will balanced the knife in his hands. Waited, carefully. Jem, this boy said. His name was Jem. Everyone called him Jem.

“You can too,” he said in a tone that was too friendly.

Will let his knife fly, biting down violently on the inside of his cheek when he missed his mark. _You can too. You can too. You can—_

“Well, if everyone calls you that, it’s hardly any special favor to me, is it?”

He had gone for the cruelest, most terrible words he could think off. Anything to push the Carstairs boy away.

But perhaps the hands of fate had known he would grow to be a gnarled, hurtful beast.

Those moon-like eyes lit up like the sky back home—back in Wales, where the city lights and smog couldn’t dream of touching the stars. Will found it strange that he found something so familiar in a boy so new to him.

Jem cast a look at where his knife stood imbedded in the wood, ruefully far form the target’s centre. His face was angelic in the light flitting through the windows of the training room, but there was no denying the ghostly sheen to him, or even that peculiar, keen understanding woven into the shifting greys and silvers of his irises.

Will blurted an apology—for what comfort could a boy barred from love offer one who danced with death each day?

“Don’t be ordinary like that. Don’t say you’re sorry. Say you’ll train with me.”

And there it was: that wild need to _live_ that lived behind the eyes of the Carstairs boy, despite the fact that he was carved from only the finest marble, veined with platinum and grey instead of gold. Where Will was cracked and broken, Jem was smooth and unshakeable, no matter that he was the one with the illness.

And so Will trained with him, for perhaps he could fill those cracks within his soul with the unwavering light in Jem Carstairs’ eyes.

His Soulmate. Someone he could very well lose.

They spoke nothing of it.

Never in Will’s life had he seen someone with so much spark in them, least of all a boy had a bird’s fragility to his bones and a demon’s poison acquainting itself with every nook and cranny of his heart. Maybe that was just what being tortured for days on end did to you. Maybe Jem valued his life in a way Will never would be able to again.

They were under a tree now, basking in the late afternoon warmth of the sun creeping across the sky.

“I’m sorry.”

Will didn’t jump. Shadowhunters did not jump in shock. He did, however, turn a questioning look on his friend, the other piece of his soul. “Whatever for, Jem?”

“You’ve gotten quite an unfortunate deal, haven’t you? Being stuck with me?”

Anger threatened to spill over like a tub struggling to contain water. Jem deserved better than _Will_ , as far as he was concerned. “Now you’re just spewing nonsense, James.”

“Am I?”

Rare was it that Jem would be so somber; serious, yes. Calm, nearly always. But only in the dead of night, where no one else was able to see, had the light in Jem dim, and the lovely glints of silver would turn to pebbles.

“You have another Soulmate, Will. Promise me, that when I—”

“We’re still looking for a _cure_ ,” Will said desperately. The very idea that one day, Will would walk an earth without Jem on it made him want to scream and cry and maybe break several valuable. He knew that was not nearly enough to encompass the pain that would tear through him with a ferocity to rival any ship-wrecking storm, but he would not dwell on it when the future had yet to be set in stone. And even then, Will would go at it with a hammer and chisel to carve in his own future—his future with _Jem_. 

“And I appreciate your efforts that, to my understanding, have so far proved fruitless.” Jem wasn’t cruel when he said it; it was simply a fact. Will and the others hadn’t found a single thing that would cure Jem, or even lengthen his life any considerable amount.

“What I was attempting to say,” Jem continued, “is that I wanted you to let down your guard around the next person that comes your way. I want you to let yourself love them, William.”

“You’re oddly worried about my own love life,” Will said shakily. Bile threatened to burn a hole in his throat. “I’ve seen your other mark. I am not the only one here with things to be concerned about.”

“I doubt I’ll live to see the other person destined to be intertwined with me.”

“Don’t _say that_.” Will never cried. He’d decided such efforts were a waste long ago, and that to unlock one emotion within himself was to unlock them all—and _that_ , he could not afford. Jem always managed to bring him close to breaking that rule. “You cannot talk of leaving me so _casually_ , James.”

“Oh, William, my Will.”

Jem had always been infuriatingly understanding. Even when the insufferable Gabriel Blightwood came to wreak havoc on their lives, Jem would whisk Will away to some far away land, cracking every joke Will hadn’t spat at the Lightwood boy’s face. And it was always grand fun, hearing Jem’s ever-calm voice curl around jokes that were so unique to his and Will’s unspoken communication. They never went that far, in truth, but anywhere that involved spending time with Jem might as well have been some paradise island. He was getting that understanding look now, except it was laced with so much more sadness. Will wanted it to stop—Jem was much too good to be so sad.

Jem’s hand was cupping his cheek now. After spending so long in the sun, Jem was warm. If they hadn’t gone out, there was no doubt in Will’s mind that he would be just this side of cold. The thought made him even more sick.

“I could never leave you. Not fully. You know this.”

In lieu of a response, Will simply turned his face further into the musician’s hands that belonged to Jem. His eyes burned.

“You still wish to be _parabatai_ , do you not?”

Will’s head nearly dislodged with how eagerly he nodded.

“Good,” Jem said gently—only ever gentle. “I’m glad. Then that will mean we can never be separated.”

Will picked up Jem’s hand, the one with the strange words scrawled across his palm. “What of this person?”

Jem looked just as helpless as Will felt. “I cannot be certain I will even meet them, Will.”

They stopped talk of Soulmates after that. Will placed his head on Jem’s shoulder—too bony, too thin, he was too _sick_ —and just let the smell of burnt sugar and the forest around them wash over him. Their hands lay locked between them.

And when Jem coughed for a moment, rough and haggard, Will could only think one thing: _I’m killing him, and I don’t know how to stop._

_I don’t want him to stop loving me._

Theresa Gray was certain the only thing keeping her sane was the fact that she had two people—two _Soulmates—_ waiting for outside of this decrepit house. She clung to the idea of Nate, of keeping him safe like a lifeline, but it was only the thoughts of her Soulmates that gave her _hope_. When she turned into other people, when it felt like she was snapping all of her bones just to pop them back into place, Tessa lost herself. She couldn’t tell where she ended and this strange person that wasn’t her began. It felt like tumbling through the blackest depths of the ocean, like she’d been tossed from Coney Island as the sun set, sinking and sinking, never knowing when she would rise again.

When Tessa could crawl under her covers and sob into the rough material of the pillows, she would look at her shoulder and hand.

 _You cut me,_ her shoulder said. Her hand, which was much more difficult to cover up, said, _Will? Will is that you?_

Which was quite insulting. Her Soulmate was going to mistake her for a _man_? And she was going to cut the other one?

Beyond that, beyond the absurdity of the circumstance of meeting her Soulmates, it gave Tessa hope; there were people waiting for her.

So when a boy—because that was what he was, a _boy_ —came into her room with hair black as the night outside and eyes that put the oceans back home to shame, crying out the words on her shoulder, Tessa knew that she would follow him. Craziness or not, sheer insanity or no, this was her Soulmate, and she was finally beginning to rise out of the ocean.

What Tessa hadn’t expected was for this boy with the wild hair and cold eyes to be such an insufferable _ass_. Just her luck, really; saved by the person destined to carry a piece of her soul and he seemed like he couldn’t care less.

She tried to talk to him about it, and that got her nowhere.

“I don’t have a Soulmate, Miss Gray.”

Tessa didn’t know Will Herondale well enough to know whether or not he was lying, but it sounded like complete nonsense. Everyone had a Soulmate. Tessa, apparently, had two.

He should have said something different. _I’ve already met my Soulmate, Ms. Gray. We can discuss this later, Miss Gray. What will you do when you know that you cannot love me, Miss Gray?_

But Will had not said those things. His words had failed him, for that faint fracture of time, and he’d pushed out the first response he could thing of.

 _Stupid_.

Girls didn’t typically wander into the rooms of boys in the middle of the night. Tessa—she apparently did.

Jem had been nothing short of gorgeous. Perched near the window, with the moon’s light shining down on him and swallowing him up in a halo of white-silver, he looked like an angel—which was appropriate, she figured, considering his lineage. Upon the first sight of him, Tessa thought he was a piece of a fallen star that had tumbled towards Earth. After they’d gotten to talking, both of them fiddling with the script fitted into the soft skin of their palms, Tessa decided that the stars were simply pieces of Jem that had gotten stuck in the murky expanses of the night sky.

The look on Jem’s face when he spoke of Will shocked Tessa; no one else in the house seemed too fond of Will’s attitude—a sentiment with which she could sympathize—but there was nothing but love in those shimmering orbs when Jem’s lips formed the name of his friend. Tessa was not sure she could ever hope to match up to that, to ever have Jem speak of her as fondly.

Tessa could not understand Will, and the idea of trying to get to know him was far from appealing—but if someone like Jem, who showed nothing but kindness to the girl who disrupted his time alone in his private space, could love him and be fond of him as he was, then maybe there was something worth understanding.

Will had never prided himself on his successful dealings with people.

The sun was threatening to peak up over the horizon when he slipped into Jem’s room.

“William, what are you doing?”

“You aren’t pleased to see me, James?”

Jem sat up slowly in his bed. He looked at Will with a worn amusement—and the faint annoyance at being woken up at this absurd hour, surely—before sliding over to make room. Such a small action was enough to make Will’s heart flutter. He didn’t move.

“Stop being a sod and come over here.”

“Such _fowl language_ , Jem. What has the early morning done to you?”

“I rarely catch good sleep, Will. You’ve disturbed it.”

Will flinched. He was glad the dimness of the room hid the movement. “I’ll be going, then—”

He never got to leave. Jem, Nephilim-quick, caught Will’s wrist before he could even think of moving and dragged him onto the bed.

“It’s too early in the morning for your theatrics and misconceptions. If you wish to stay with me, simply say so.”

“I—” Will sighed. He sat beside his _parabatai_ Jem had never taken his defences too much to heart.

Jem dropped his head against Will’s shoulder. Soft hair tickled the side of Will’s neck. Will picked up Jem’s hand with the writing. It wasn’t such a strange sight, now; so much of Jem’s skin was covered in Marks that the writing on his chest and hand seemed to belong.

“Tessa is something, isn’t she?”

There was no hiding Will’s flinch this time. Jem was not wrong; Tessa was stunning. Her eyes were slate gray and confident, where Jem’s seemed to shimmer like a blade. Perhaps he had a type. “Something is one way of putting it.”

Jem had clearly expected some other response. “Do you not like her?”

“I do not like anyone, Jem.”

Jem rolled his eyes but did not move his head. Will found comfort in that. He was lucky that Jem was leaning on his unmarked shoulder. 

“I suppose that means you’ll try to be rid of me, then,” Jem said lightly. “Seems quite the waste to be tied in _two_ ways to someone you do not like.”

Will whirled on Jem, dislodging the silvery head from his shoulder. Jem blinked in surprise—he’d probably been falling asleep, Will thought. “ _Never_ ,” he breathed.

Sickness clawed at the walls of Will’s chest. Sometimes it was easy to forget Jem was dying. He seemed so _alive_ that Will never thought twice to think of their future—but then Jem would double over, and Will was reminded why he’d gotten so close to Jem in the first place.

The only reason Will had allowed himself the pleasure of Jem and his company was _because_ he was dying, a double-edged sword for the ages. 

“You’ve met them, haven’t you?”

Will made a frustrated noise. “What are you _on about_ , James?”

“You’ve been fiddling with your shoulder ever since you returned from your mission with Henry. Though I’ve never seen it, and you’ve never said a word to me, I can fathom a guess.” Jem’s eyes were not angry, the set of his mouth calm in the little light there was to see by. “You’ve met your other Soulmate.”

Will didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think of someone else who was crafted to fit into even the most unlovable parts of himself, because he couldn’t have her. Tessa was not dying. Tessa was very much living, would live on for a considerable amount of time. There was no justifying a relationship with her. Jem was the only one who could love him.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Jem raised an incredulous brow. “Are you calling me a _liar_ , William?”

Will tried to convince himself that there was no real twinge of hurt in his Jem’s voice. “Never, James.”

“Never” wasn’t a word often used with Nephilim. Their futures were never certain. There was only the present moment, and their mission to the world. And yet Jem had made him use it _twice_ within the past two minutes because of how harshly Will’s emotions choked the air from his lungs. 

“Promise me you’ll be happy when I pass, Will. Please promise me.”

Jem was his great sin. Jem would be the single thing to undo him. “I promise.”

It hurt more than any demon blood spilt on his skin, any blade cutting into his body, to lie to his James. But that was the price he’d decided he would pay all those years ago. Jem was the one person on this planet that made Will feel human. Jem reminded him that no, he was not entirely a monster, and that yes, there was some small, infinitesimal part of him that could be loved, no matter how rotten and ugly.

Will thought of Charlotte and Henry, his parents, who each loved their Soulmates freely. He wondered if, in another life, he’d have been able to love his Soulmates as they all did.

Jem was staring at the girl who, despite all odds and uncertain futures, had agreed to be married to him. It was something surreal. Everything about Tessa was surreal, though still welcoming and warm and loving.

“I realize I must make a confession.”

Tessa looked at him expectantly, but there was nothing about her gaze that made him feel rushed. Jem felt himself fall a little further for her.

“I understand that you have a mark you are uncertain of,” he started, expecting the small stiffening of Tessa’s spine. “I have two I know exactly. One is yours, in the same place as my words on your skin. But…I do have a mark for someone else. Someone just as important to me as you.”

“Who?” Tessa asked, voice soft and understanding. Jem was truly in love with her.

“Will.”

Silence moved between them like the water in the Thames, uncontrollable yet predictable. Familiar.

“I would be lying if I said that shocked me,” she said. “Unless this is you revoking your proposal. In which case I must tell you that is mean.”

Jem felt a grin spread across his face to the point of pain—but it was a different sort of pain than he was used to. This was not the pain of death slowly closing in around him, of hell fire burning scars into him that nothing could heal. It was the tugging of his heart when he and Will shared a joke that only they two understood, or the warm flutter that dislodged his focus when Tessa looked at him with her warm grey eyes. It was the pain of love, the ache of devoting yourself completely to someone.

“You, Tessa Gray, are something special.”

Jem could not pretend that he did not wish there was someone else with them, to share in their joy and love. Jem told himself that the ache in his chest was his heart twisting in love, and not the skin just below it stinging with loss.

Tessa remembered one day, walking through the streets of New York City with her hand in Aunt Harriet’s, and tripping over her own feet and colliding with a well-dressed boy. They’d fallen to the ground and the boy had cried out, with no shortage of indignation at being pushed down by a poor girl, “You cut me!”

“I’m so sorry!” she’d said automatically, but she was filled with hope; her Soulmate was here! And at such a young age, too!

But then she’d seen the words on his palm. _Now what do you think you’re doing?_

It was not what Tessa had said. And so she’d walked on.

Will had said the same thing to her, in that detached and cold tone of his back at the Dark House. But he had not approached her. And that meant Tessa was simply meant to cut someone else. Fall in love with someone else.

She wanted no such thing.

Tessa pressed a hand to her shoulder, brushing aside her fallen hair, and dug her nails in. She didn’t move her hand, only felt the stinging of her nails biting into her own flesh.

She should have pressed the burning poker to this mark, or maybe driven it into her own heart.

Will had been a bloody fool. An unfettered _moron_.

Jem was in love with Tessa. Tessa was in love with Jem. They were Soulmates. They were engaged.

Will wasn’t a single part of this equation. Yes, he loved Tessa more than he’d ever thought possible. Yes, Tessa had his words scrawled across her shoulder, and Jem had Will carved under his heart, but none of it mattered. They loved each other. Will, under idiotic pretenses and _lies_ , had let it slip away from him. His Jem and his— No, not his Tessa. Tessa had never been his, and never would be.

He’d been planning to show Tessa his mark, the _Are you the Magister?_ that had confused Will everyday he’d looked at it until he’d met Tessa. After all, he’d told her of everything else, too. He’d told her of his curse and his feelings for her—

But no. None of it could be his, now. He would sit back and watch as Tessa and his Jem stood together to pledge the rest of their lives to each other.

Will’s heart and shoulder felt as if they were on fire.

Tessa had become very familiar with betrayal. This . . . was that, but mixed in with something else entirely.

Being in Mortmain’s clutches was starting to eat at Tessa’s mind. Then Will, again, had come to save her. He never seemed to hesitate when it came to rescuing her. She’d never understood it—after that afternoon in the drawing room, where Will had spilled every thought he’d had about her over the past few months, Tessa felt unsure around him.

Worse was the news that Jem had left them.

Tessa had never felt such a raw pain in her chest. She was too numb to feel Will’s arms around her. Tessa did not want to think of what it meant when she let Will touch her where only Jem had touched before, when she felt her heart try to soar under the weight of agony, to pump pleasure through her veins while grief struggled to rip her apart. She did not want to think of how her soul hissed _yes, this is what you want_.

With stars twinkling behind her eyelids, Tessa felt a sickening mixture of wretched pain and pleasure swirling up form her toes to consume her. Then she looked at Will’s shoulder, and her world shattered all over again.

“ _Will_ ,” she whispered.

He didn’t notice what she was staring at for a moment. Then horror seized Will’s features, and Tessa was left staring at him. Rage quickly replaced a lot of the emotions making a mess of her heart.

“Were you _ever_ going to tell me?” she hissed.

“No,” he said. Guilt softened his voice in a way Tessa wasn’t sure she’d ever heard before. Then he shifted, and Tessa saw the other writing under his heart.

_You can too._

“That is Jem’s,” she said without thought. It was faded, just as Tessa’s _Will? Will is that you?_ was. Because Jem was gone.

Will did not tell her she was wrong.

Buzzing filled Tessa’s mind—or it may have been her blood rushing behind her ears.

Will. Will had always been meant to fit in with them. Both she and Jem knew there was something amiss between them, but Tessa had just chalked it up to the fact that she wasn’t sure how many more days she would have with her love. Never in a million years would she have guessed William Herondale was that missing piece.

Disgust tightened around her shoulders, squeezed her heart until she was sure she was going to die.

“You—Jem and I, we’re—we’re your—”

Tessa had read books her whole life. She could serve as an impromptu thesaurus or dictionary in several circumstances, but now, with her suspicions over the past few months confirmed, she had no words to give.

Will nodded stiffly. The sag of his shoulders and the hanging of his head spoke of resignation Will had never shown before. “I could not have stepped between the two of you. Not even I am that much of a monster.”

“ _Will_ —"

“Words do not exist that could express the regret I feel, Tess.”

Perhaps they were always meant to intertwine, love and pain. They hurt all the same, and where love came, pain followed.

Magnus was the lovely distraction they needed.

Tessa was shocked to have lived, if she was being completely honest. Glorious pain filled every crevice of her body, and she was sure that that had been the end. She had saved those she loved, those who had cared for her when no one else had, and that would have been enough.

Tessa was just as shocked to see Jem. Last she had checked, Jem had been stolen from her by a disease she could not have hoped to understand. This Jem that she was looking at now—he was exactly the boy she knew, though he could not be more different.

She looked desperately for the script twisting around Jem’s palm. It was there, however faded.

This must have been Tessa’s punishment. To stare at the man she had been engaged to, accept what she had done not even a day after his death, feel the disgust for herself and her actions burn almost as bright as the seraphic fire had. Her Jem was starting back at her, but he seemed so far away.

“Jem, there is something I must tell you.”

Jem, kind soul still untouched by the transformation into a Silent Brother, smiled. “I am happy for you both.”

Tessa felt all the air in her lungs escape. “What?” she breathed.

“You and Will, you are tied to each other just as you and I were, as he and I were.”

“Are you—” Tessa gripped her marked hand until the skin underneath went white. “Are you lost to us, Jem?”

“Will has loved you a long time, Tessa,” Jem said. “I wasn’t aware he did until recently, but it seemed you knew.” Tessa felt that familiar self-hatred burn white-hot in her lungs. “I am not upset with you, my Tessa. How unfair would it be of me to expect you to love him and less than you love me, now that I am gone?”

Doubt wasn’t something Jem demonstrated often. It seemed he was allotting himself that privilege now.

“Did you—?”

Jem did not finish his question. Her gut filled with dread, for she was almost certain she knew what his question had been.

_Did you love me?_

“No, you deserve more than that. I’m more than aware of how dearly you loved me, Tessa.”

“Love.”

Jem blinked. “Pardon?”

“How much I love you. There is no _past_ to this. Only whatever lies ahead in our future, what we are able to gain in the present.” Tessa felt faint, knew she should rest, but there were tears in her eyes and for the first time in a while, she did not bother to hold them back. “I will love you for the rest of my life, James Carstairs.” Tessa forced her lip to stop wobbling. “And I know what those words mean. What they mean for me.”

“I am sorry, my darling Tessa,” Jem whispered. “I have left you with an empty engagement and the mark of a Soulmate who is dead. For the rest of eternity, no less.”

“You will stop speaking such nonsense this _second_ , Jem.”

Their hour was coming to a close. Tessa was not sure how she did it. She was not sure how any part of her could have let him go, with only the promise to see each once a year on Jem’s special spot. But she did it—for him, she did it. The knowledge that Jem was living and breathing, helping people just as he had when he was among his family, was alleviating enough for Tessa to let him go.

_I will never forget you as you were, Jem Carstairs. I will never forget the boy I fell in love with._

As Will threw knives at the target, aim impeccable as it always was, he was certain every throw was directed right back at his heart. Every _thunk_ of the metal sinking into the wood meant another crack in Will’s damaged soul.

He knew it was Jem that had joined him before he turned around.

Will knew if he turned around, he would have to face down the inevitable. That he would have to turn back, turn away from Jem, _his_ Jem, the one person Will felt was home.

Will had already said goodbye to his home once. He was not sure he could survive it a second time.

Doing his best to make his legs listen to his command, Will twisted to face Jem. “I suppose we’re not longer _parabatai_ , then.”

“No,” Jem agreed. “Silent Brothers are not usually ones with mortal connections.”

“You are leaving a lot of those behind,” Will said, throwing his knife into the ground. If Charlotte was going to have his head for damaging the wood further, so be it. It felt like he was being torn apart by Ravener demons, their stingers sinking right into his heart from all angles.

“William.”

Will couldn’t look. He couldn’t. He’d turned around, but he could not look into those eyes he loved so much.

“ _Will_ ,” Jem whispered—he sounded so _desperate_ , Will thought sadly. It was exactly how he felt, how badly he wanted Jem to stay.

Silent Brothers did not touch those they weren’t healing, but Jem’s hands were coming up to cup Will’s cheeks. Will hadn’t noticed his tears had begun to fall. Now he had no choice but to look into the eyes of his Jem. Even though they’d become darker, streaks of black swirling in grey depths, they were still Jem. No longer were they affected by the poison. Jem was healthier than when they’d first met.

How fitting, that their place of meeting would be their goodbye.

“We may not have a Rune to share our souls in battle, my Will, but do not forget.” One of Jem’s hands drifted down towards the mark of Jem’s words, where his parabatai rune was now faded as well. _You can too._ “Our souls are still tied together through other means. Your heart and mine still beat as one. And they both beat for a certain warlock, if I’m not mistaken.”

Will didn’t have the energy to fake his feelings for Tessa—not that it would have been much use to Jem.

Will took a shaky breath. He lifted his hand to grip the back of Jem’s neck.

God, there he was, delinquent Will Herondale, touching a Silent Brother like he had any right to it. But this was Jem, the lanky, pale boy who had wandered into this very training room and then right into Will’s heart, completely disregarding every wall Will had bothered to build up. Jem leaned into his touch, refusing to break his gaze on Will.

Will was not afraid as he gently pressed his lips against Jem’s forehead. Jem let out the breath he’d been holding in, moving his hand to grip Will’s wrist like it would save him from drowning, not allowing him to move. Will did not want to.

“I’ll be calling on you as often as I can get away with,” Will whispered as he pulled back. He did not dare let go of Jem—and he was so terrified by the urge to place a kiss somewhere else that he was rooted in his spot.

“You’re going to get me in trouble even in the Silent City, William? That’s hardly fair.”

Will had no choice but to laugh, shitty situation be damned. Jem would not always be like this, he knew. Soon Jem would take on even more Silent Brother characteristics, step even further away from his _parabatai_ of days passed, but—

Will took another breath, this one steadier than the last. “I love you, James Carstairs.”

Jem smiled his lovely, kind smile. “And I you, William Herondale. Take care of her.”

“I think you’ll have to ask _her_ to watch over _me_.”

Jem should smirk more often, Will thought. “You think I haven’t?”

Will huffed an unsteady laugh. “You’ve always been a disloyal bastard.”

With one final brush of his fingers against Will’s cheek, Jem stepped back. “I wish for you to have this.”

Will looked down. Where had Jem been keeping that?

“The box for your _yin fen_?” Will asked dubiously.

“Yes.”

“A box . . . will not comfort me.”

“Change is not loss, Will. You know this.”

He did. At the age of twelve, everything about Will’s life had changed, and yet, here he was, standing in the training room of the London Institute with so much more to lose than he’d ever thought possible.

“What do you think we could have made of it,” Will said, “if we’d had more time?”

Jem closed his eyes. Will knew he was trying to hold back tears. “I do not know. I do not intend to focus on what could have been. What I do know is this: you and Tessa are a part of me. You and I are a part of Tessa. Tessa and I are a part of you. Whatever we can make of it now is what we will.”

“Make me a promise, Jem.”

Jem tilted his head in inquiry, but said nothing.

“Name a skull after me. Wax poetic to it in my name.”

A laugh burst from Jem’s lips. A very odd image, what with the parchment robes and runes adorning Jem. “Is that _truly_ the last thing you want to say to me?”

Will shrugged. “Old habits die hard.” Will did not want to do this, but he knew he had to. He stared at Jem’s chest, beneath the robes where he knew his faded mark lay. “Go in peace, James Carstairs.”

Tessa looked down at her lovely James, innocent and chubby in the way that all babies were. His eyes had not opened yet, but Tessa could not help but selfishly wish he had her eyes. Will was on her right, hugging her close and gleaming with a pride she imagined was unique to new fathers. His hand was brushing over Tessa’s mark, the _You cut me_ , with reassurance and love. When they had time to themselves, when paperwork did not demand to be tended to, Will would press kisses into Tessa’s _Will? Will, is that you?-_ inked palm; Tessa would slowly kiss her way down until she pressed her lips against _You can too._

A knock came on their bedroom door, and neither Tessa nor Will had to look up to know who it was that was joining them.

“The disloyal bastard makes his round once more.”

“If I was not holding our son, Will, I would strike you.”

Jem did not smile much anymore, but there was the slightest quirk to his lips as he glided over to Will and Tessa.

 _He seems healthy_ , Jem said.

“Good. I was planning on tossing him into a fighting ring tomorrow.”

Tessa, balancing her son in one arm, thwacked her husband upside the head.

_I do not advise that, Will._

“Who says? He has Herondale blood. Little James here can do whatever the hell he puts his mind to.”

Jem expressed as much shock as he could. _James…?_

Tessa knew what he was thinking. “Yes,” she said, turning her head to look at Will briefly. He nodded at her before turning his attention back to Jem. “He is named after you, Jem.”

Jem bowed his head. His eyes had since been shut by the runes of the Silent Brothers, but . . . Tessa knew it was a mortal habit that had him shieling his face from view. Will chortled beside her.

“Tess, my love, we’ve gone and done it; we’ve made a Silent Brother cry.”

“That’s just the reaction to you, Will dear. Have you washed up since James has made an appearance?”

Will pecked her on the cheek. “I know you’re here to perform the ritual on little James, here, Jem, but . . . could you not take a moment to spend with us?”

_You know I should not._

“You can say we kidnapped you and refused to let you leave.”

_That would be more damaging to my reputation then simply staying longer than I should._

Will grinned like a demon that had gotten the better end of a deal. He and Tessa, seeming to share a thought, moved apart to make room for Jem to sit between them.

“You can brag to the rest of the Brotherhood that you got cuddles.”

_That is not something we discuss, Will._

Will didn’t say anything more as Tessa handed over their son to Jem. She watched, enraptured, as Jem stared down at Jamie in amazement. She shifted, moving deliberately slow to give Jem the opportunity to move away. He didn’t. Tessa, in a brief show of Will-like behaviour, made note of the fact that she was cuddling with a _Silent Brother_. Truly, only her life, Will’s life, and Jem’s life.

Will mirrored Tessa’s movements. Together, the three watched as little Jamie squirmed and cooed happily.

“He likes you,” Tessa whispered. Any louder, and there was too much of a risk she’d ruin their small world made of glass and unspoken dreams.

_I like him too._

Tessa knew she was being selfish as she reached up to wrap both of her arms around Jem’s left, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted every ounce of closeness she could get before Jem went away. It was true that Will summoned Brother Zachariah more often than any Shadowhunter ought to have. Still, it wasn’t enough for her, and she knew it wasn’t enough for Will. Even if Tessa got an hour on top of that each year.

Tessa knew that the three of them here, together, was right. There shouldn’t have been any other way to go about it. And yet, they had no choice. This was all they three could have together; stolen moments made purely out of luck or Will’s unshakable determination. Tessa wished with her whole being that Jamie would grow up along with his namesake, to know the kind soul he was named after.

_Please do not stress, Tessa. I am glad to have even these moments with you._

Tessa leaned further into Jem. “Are you reading my mind, James Carstairs?”

_It is simply what we were are all thinking._

“Personally, I was thinking about how Gabriel Lightworm and my sister might have one of these. Needless to say, that is my worst nightmare.”

Jem turned to Will then, and all sense of amusement seeped out of his sapphire eyes. He was back to being the boy who loved to mess around with his fair-haired counterpart—but now there was a severity to his expression that was not the result of ageing or experience. It was simply the weight of loss.

Tessa half-expected Jem to close off Tessa’s access to their conversation, but he didn’t.

_I know how you miss me, Will. Do not think there is a day that passes where I do not wish I still had you and Tessa by my side._

“We would rather you live away form us than die to be with us, Jem,” Tessa said.

Jamie crooned again. Jem looked down at him, lips doing their best to curl into a smile.

_I think it is time to put the protection on your son._

“Will you stay afterwards?” Will asked. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was anticipating being shot down.

_I will stay until you both fall asleep._

And he did. Jem did the job he had come to do, gave their Jamie the protection he needed, and settled the baby into the crib that Henry had crafted for them.

“I wasn’t sure about taking this thing,” Will said conversationally. “Charlotte told me the first crib Henry had made was a right disaster.”

“Henry wouldn’t give us something that would harm Jamie.”

“Sure,” Will scoffed, “because he doesn’t know all the ways this thing can go wrong.”

_I do not think a crib crafted solely of fabric and wood could harm your son, William._

“You’ve clearly been away from Henry too long, my James.”

Silence crashed over them rougher than any thundering wave on the shore. Will clearly hadn’t meant the small endearment. Tessa couldn’t say she hadn’t almost let one slip herself.

_I have missed being called that._

Tessa took Jem’s hand in hers, rubbing her thumb over the faded mark along his palm. _I’m so sorry_ , in faded grey ink, the colour of Tessa’s own eyes. Will lunged to grab Jem’s other hand, dragging him back to his spot between them.

_Silent Brothers are not meant to be dragged around as dolls._

“Good think we’re special, then,” Will said, winking charmingly. He hadn’t let go of Jem’s hand yet. He brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the Voyance Rune in stark black on Jem’s pale skin. Tessa simply held Jem’s hand close to her; the hand that helped create such beautiful music, music she understood perfectly.

“Won’t you play something for us the next time you come around, Jem?”

_You do not wish to hear something now?_

Tessa shook her head. Will was already blinking sleepily, hands still clasped around Jem’s. “Will and I just want you here with us. We cannot know if we’ll ever get a chance like this again.”

_I . . . have missed you both dearly._

“Don’t tempt me, James,” Will murmured, “or I’ll kidnap you right from the City of Bones.”

_I do not think Brother Enoch will like that very much._

Will shrugged. “Not my problem.”

Jem pressed his nose to Will’s hair for a brief moment. Tessa herself had done it on several occasions; it was one of the only things that remained of Will’s rowdy nature as a boy. His unruly hair and bright eyes at seventeen were still fresh in Tessa’s mind, and she knew it was in Jem’s too.

_How are you, my— How are you, Tessa?_

Will did not stir. He was asleep, and it was just Tessa and Jem, now. “You’re allowed to call me yours, Jem. You know a part of me will always be exactly that.”

_I cannot do that to Will._

Tessa moved to look at him intently. Jem had accidentally dropped his hood back when Will had manhandled him onto the bed, so Tessa was granted an unobstructed view of him. “I am his just as much as I am yours, and just as much as I am my own. I told you this before you left all those years ago, Jem.”

_Will asked me, before I’d gone, what would have become of us if we’d had the chance._

He’d asked Tessa that as well, but only once, and only when he’d gotten heavily drunk on the night of Cecily’s and Gabriel’s engagement. “Who knows? Maybe we could have all had a life together. Maybe we could have had the fate most Soulmates do, with love and happiness and care. Maybe you could have helped us run the Institute. Maybe we’d have all died in a blaze of glory greater than when I transformed into the angel. We’ll never know. But what I do know, my Jem, is that we are making the best of this. That is all anyone can hope to do.”

They both looked to Will, then, who had reached a hand out before completely slipping into unconsciousness. Tess grabbed it for herself, placing herself back on Jem’s left.

“I think we were robbed of a bright future,” Tessa whispered, “but I could not ask for anything better in this life. I will always take you and Will any way I can.”

_You are something special, Tessa._

Tessa smiled, dropping her head against Jem’s shoulder as her eyes were weighed down by fatigue. “So I keep being told.”

William Herondale had never thought he would ever be this happy in his life. After the pyxis, after he had found out Jem would be taken from him, after he had been told that his entire reason for acting as he did was a lie—by the Angle, after he learned that the woman he loved and the man he loved would be planning a future that didn’t factor him in at all. He was prepared to spend the rest of his life in suffering.

He would be lying if he said now, he was completely happy.

That did not mean he wasn’t impossibly, exceedingly happy every waking hour knowing he had a son, a child on the way, and a loving wife who always kept him on his toes, his mind sharp. His life took several turns to be what it was today, to be one he was proud to live.

It was only that he . . . missed Jem.

Will had hoped that if he managed to live beyond nineteen, Jem would, by some miracle, still be around. That his _parabatai_ , one of his Soulmates, would be around as long as he possibly could. It had been completely foolish to hope for something like that, but Jem had already beat seemingly irrefutable odds by living as long as he had.

Will reminded himself that Jem was not dead. That he was _still_ living, however surrounded by skulls and humourless Brothers.

He craned his neck back to look at the stars in the sky, shining bright as ever. He wondered how often Jem was allowed to see the stars, if he’d forgotten their beauty amidst the bones and ash of the fallen.

Will unbuttoned his shirt, glad no one could see him when he was perched on the roof of the Institute. His shoulder was still covered in black ink, just as dark as the sky above him. The one on his chest, the letters that Will had spent hours of his life tracing with his fingers, had faded. He laid back against the roof as he traced over the letters once more.

Will had not planned his life this way, but with one Soulmate coddling their firstborn beneath this very roof, and the knowledge that the other was safe beneath the ground among tombs and tales, he was glad this was the future handed to him. All that was important was that those he loved were safe—

And that he _had_ people he loved. Who loved him, and were glad to do so.

Brother Zachariah, once James Carstairs, stood outside the London Institute, fresh from casting protection over little Lucie Herondale. Will had been holding Jamie, who threw his hands up at the sight of Jem and mumble something along the lines of “Uncle Jem”. Really, it had sounded more like “bumble dem,” but the sentiment held.

No other in the Brotherhood had dared suggest taking this protection ceremony. Brother Zachariah—Jem, when Will and Tessa and their children were involved, wouldn’t have let them.

He’d played for them before he’d gone, little Jamie taking great pleasure in the melody coming from the violin. Will hadn’t kissed him, saying that it felt weird kissing a mouth that would never again move, but he had buried his face in Jem’s neck. Jem had not been hugged since his last visit to the Institute—which, after he’d been wrapped up in the arms of his Will, felt like much too long. Tessa had taken his hands, loosened from playing, and pressed small kisses to each of his fingers, his palm where his faded mark for her lay.

“I can still understand your music, Jem,” she’d said. “All this time, I still can.”

Will looked on at them with pure adoration. Jem had not been able to feel remorseful that he could not stay, but now, as he stared at the London Institute, he felt a muted sense of nostalgia and love. Already his heart was changing into that of a Silent Brother. He looked down at the staff in his hands, the scrawled _WH_ starting to become worn from use.

His Will and his Tessa would be okay, he knew. They had each other. And they had him, should they need him.

Jem believed that one day, the wheel of life would bring them all together again, so that they may have a second shot at their happy ending together.

Theresa Gray had once looked at herself in the mirror and wondered: _Is this someone you’re happy with?_

Tessa, during the course of her stay at the Institute, had watched as every semblance of family she’d known beforehand get torn to shreds. Her brother—though he really wasn’t that, was he?—had taught her just how painful betrayal could be, how acrid the taste of it could be on her tongue. She’d learned that she actually hailed from a respectable Shadowhunter family as well as a demon.

And then Charlotte had taken her in. Jem had taken to sweeping her off her feet, and Will—

Well.

Will had been an inexplicably large pain, but that was a thing of the past.

Tessa had once been lost in the oceanic abyss of her own ability, the vastness of her powers that she’d been forced into. Waves had crushed her against jagged rocks and broken shells and told her that she may never see light again.

Jem and his glimmering moon eyes had given her a path to light, to freedom. Will and his whirlwind of words dragged her out of the depths along that path. Together, they’d managed to turn her untraceable depths into a thing of beauty, a thing of power. Her Soulmates helped her understand things about her that would have otherwise made her sickeningly afraid. Without them, there was no guaranteeing what she would have done with herself. If Will hadn’t plucked her from the hands of the Dark Sisters when he had, or if Jem hadn’t showed her kindness with no ulterior motives when he had . . .

All Tessa knew was that she owed a great deal to Will and Jem, even if it felt like they all couldn’t be more separate.

_I hope you know we love you, my Jem. Forever and always, through the stretch of time and barriers between worlds, we will love you._

**Author's Note:**

> So I just finished revising this as of June 6th, 2020! Not much changed, but I started the Infernal Devices over again and I wanted to revisit this and spruce it up a bit. 
> 
> Oh and also I had gotten Will and Jem's first meeting wrong and THAT is what I get for trusting pinterest instead of picking up Clockwork Princes ._. 
> 
> Anyway! Herongraystairs rights! Hope you enjoyed it. Now excuse me while I go back to ~sobbing my eyes out~ over these three <3


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